Seasonal Stories
by KnightFury
Summary: My response to Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness. Genres are likely to vary depending upon prompts. I rate this selection of stories K as I intend for this series to be suitable for my nephews. I intend to do my best, though that may change as well depending upon the prompt. Enjoy this challenge - I for one intend to do so.
1. Tea or Coffee?

**Prompt for the 1st of December From Garonne - Tea or coffee?**

I do wish that Holmes would sleep, if only for an hour or so. He has spent the entire night pacing in his bedroom and our sitting room - I could hear him from upstairs in my own bedroom - and I know that he will work himself into a fever if he does not have a care.

The fellow has not even noticed that I have come down for breakfast yet. I have already had two cups of coffee (under his very nose) to wake myself up and prepare for yet another long day on this case of his and now I wonder what I should pour for my friend.

Tea might help him to relax, but he would doubtless complain that he needs to think.

Coffee would help him to think, but the fellow is already rather tense enough and really does need to calm himself and to rest. An ill Sherlock Holmes is not going to be of any help to our hapless and distressed client.

"Holmes?"

He jumps slightly and turns his pale, drawn face sharply to glare at me for disturbing him.

I feel my face soften into a fond smile.

"Tea or coffee old man?"


	2. Christmas Sweater

**Prompt for the 2nd of December from cjnwriter - Christmas sweater.**

I do not wear garish clothing. The ruddy brown suit with matching Inverness and deerstalker and the royal blue tie is more than colourful enough for my personal taste. This... garment... is more than a step too far and if I am holding it up at arm's length with an expression of disgust twisting at my lips, I can hardly be blamed. Ugh!

"I only wear knitwear when I am in disguise Lestrade. And even then, I most certainly do not wear patterns."

"It's for charity - we always have a Christmas charity event at the Yard. This year, the theme's Christmas sweaters."

"I am not coming as myself in that thing."

She laughs. "Ha! 'As yourself'! Who're you going as then?"

"I am not going at all!"

"Maybe I should've got you the one that says ' Bah Humbug' on it... What's the matter with you? You've been miserable for weeks!"

Give me strength! I slam my eyes shut and grind my teeth. "If you want a chap that will be a ray of sunshine at this miserable time of year, you should have had Watson returned to life!"

"You still miss him, don't you?"

How could I not, at this time of the year? The fellow did so love the Christmas season. Well, I am not going to be forced to give an answer. With a sigh, I remove my weskit and try on the woollen garment. It is at least warm. And rather comfortable.

"It suits you."

I give her a sharp glare. "For a good cause, I shall wear it once. It will then be given away or burnt - do I make myself clear?"

**Author's note: I thought about this prompt long and hard my dear and could not for the life of me picture a gentleman from the Victorian era wearing knitwear of any kind. In fact, I believe that woollen jumpers were not worn by any class in those days. That left me thinking that I would have to write for a more modern Holmes and opted for Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century - mostly to see how the Victorian Holmes would react to being made to wear such a thing. I hope that it came off well and was enjoyed.**


	3. Seventeen Steps

**Prompt for the 3rd of December from Ennui Enigma - 17 Steps**

I do hope that Holmes is out or else deeply engrossed in something. There is nothing more humiliating than finding oneself unable to manage the few steps to one's own sitting room. How many did Holmes say that there were of the wretched things? Seventeen? It had might as well be a hundred and seventeen!

One step... Two... Ouch! Take a deep breath and remain quiet. Don't want the servants to hear or see me. Another step... Only fourteen more to go...

I am not even midway up the stairs when my damned leg gives way beneath me and I half collapse and half kneel onto the step I had been attempting to climb with a muffled curse. Even with my heavy stick to support me, I can go no further. I am altogether too cold, too weary and much too weak. What would Holmes think of me were he to see me like this?

The front door opens and slams shut. I hear footsteps in the vestibule and then the hall door opens, allowing a chill draught to assault my back and cause me to give a violent shiver. My wretched bladder now decides to remind me that it has been rather a long time since I last had an opportunity to ease myself and I grimace. That will have to wait.

"Watson! My dear chap! Are you all right?"

I hastily nod as I wipe the tears of anger and weary frustration from my eyes so that I can see well enough to try again. My game leg shakes as I attempt to stand on it and I hear my companion gasp a curse.

"No! Do not move! Wait there - I am coming."

I hear Holmes ascend the stairs behind me, feel his arms steady me as he assures me that all is well.

"You work yourself much too hard Doctor," he gently chastises me. "You know that you would shout at me were I to come home in such a condition - and you have done so before now."

It is true. However, it takes Holmes days of neglect to become as weak as this, while it has taken me mere hours. A long day tending my patients, followed by what should have been a short walk home in a rainstorm was all that it took. I most certainly do not have my friend's strong constitution.

"Watson? Are you quite well? You have not spoken a word as of yet and you are shaking dreadfully. Is there anything that I can do for you?"

If I were to say anything, I would more than likely tell him to go away. However, even without my companion's logical mind I can see the flaw in sending away the only thing keeping me from tumbling backwards down the stairs. And so I remain silent, save the occasional gasp or grunt of pain.

"Watson? I trust you would tell me if you were nauseous?" The fellow's tone does sound frightfully nervous.

"I am not feeling sick Holmes," I grate back at him. "I am simply weary and... and somewhat angry."

I feel him freeze and his cold hand grips my good shoulder. "What have I done?"

The tone sounds much too vulnerable to have come from Sherlock Holmes, but the voice is most certainly his.

"Watson? What have I done this time? Have I offended you in some way?"

I shake my head as we at last reach the landing, my damned leg still shaking and attempting to fold up beneath me even with the help of my fellow lodger.

"It is not your doing Holmes. I am frustrated."

The fellow pats my shoulder. "You need a restorative drink and perhaps a short siesta. You shall soon be all right. Is there anything else that you require, besides the obvious?"

I shake my head as he deposits me on the sofa and pushes it closer to the hearth. I have my pride and would prefer to be left alone.

"Here, wrap these about yourself - you look terribly chilled. Drink this - it is brandy; it will warm you. Now, I shall soon have a cheerful blaze going and then I dare say we shall both feel much improved. You are not the only fellow that has had a bad day, you know."

I immediately cease my self-pitying and self-deprecating in equal parts and for the first time look at the fellow. He is hunched beside the hearth, clearly doing his utmost to keep himself from shivering, and he does indeed have a dejected air about him. His clothes are also at least as wet as my own and I recall how very icy his hands had felt as he assisted me. How could I not have noticed?

The moment that the fire is lit, I urge the fellow to sit beside me a moment and to warm himself. I even share the blankets that he has been thoughtful enough to swathe me with, for I am already feeling considerably better now that I am warmer.

"Thank you Watson. I must confess that it is pleasant to be shown such consideration after such a day as I have had. Though I perceive that yours would likely trump mine. Incidentally, you should change your clothes before you catch a cold."

I shiver as I recall the dampness of my clothing and attempt to stifle a sneeze, cautiously squeezing my legs together as I do so.

"Precisely," says Holmes with a sniff. "I presume that you had as much fortune in finding a cab in that deluge as I did."

It has been pouring a near-freezing, unforgiving rain over the city for most of the day, hence much of the difficulty with my damned leg.

"There was not one to be seen," I confirm. "I had to walk home. It was not far..."

"Far enough," the detective mutters, hurting my pride more than he is likely to ever realise. "Well, never mind that now. I shall get you a change of clothes - you had best remain here in the sitting room until your leg sees fit to behave itself. And then..."

"And then you are going to change your own clothes - for you are also somewhat damp and are just as likely to catch cold as I am," I interject quickly. "We shall then ring for a nice, warming dinner."

He sniffs again, gives his head a rather strange jerk forward, almost as if he were giving an impossibly perfectly silenced sneeze, and then nods in agreement. "Very well then Doctor. I shall bow to your logic. However, you look somewhat... uncomfortable. Come with me."

I am taken through to the washroom, where Holmes ensures that I am able to tend to myself without incident before withdrawing to find me the promised change of clothes. I cannot help but wonder again at his powers of observation, for I was quite certain that I was not making this embarrassing need at all obvious.

We are soon both warm, comfortable and enjoying a good, hot meal. I smile at my new friend, feeling quite glad now for his support and patience. It was not in the least what I would have expected from the fellow.


	4. A Difficult Lodger

**Prompt for the 4th of December From SheWhoScrawls -Mrs. Hudson returns from church one Sunday to find a disaster in Baker Street. What happened?**

I do wish Doctor Watson had not been called away on that urgent matter. I am sure I don't know what comes over Mr. Holmes in his absence. Perhaps he simply misses his fellow lodger, but I doubt very much that that man is capable of missing anyone. Would he even miss the sun were it to cease to shine?

Before I left the house for Church this morning, Mr. Holmes had been looking a bit peaky. I asked him whether he wanted some soup when I returned and he had shouted at me, telling me in no uncertain terms that he was not hungry and causing me to worry still more that he might be ailing. At least I had more sense than to ask him whether he was well - nobody would ever do that more than once, with the way in which he tends to react. Instead, I just casually suggested that it might be a good idea for him to have a short, mid-morning sleep. I was careful to see that I appealed to his brain by saying that it always helps me to think more clearly afterwards and he seemed to quite like the idea.

Mr. Holmes does not usually take naps and I was very concerned for him when I left the house. I even prayed for him at Church - or at least prayed that the doctor would hurry up and return before he came to mischief - and I decided that I would have to keep a close eye on him until the doctor did come home.

When I returned to the house, any concern that I had for the man quickly went out of the window. He had had a row with my best maid and she was threatening to leave. That was the first thing that I had to somehow deal with. I still know not what exactly took place between them, but she insists that she will never set foot in the rooms on the first floor again.

When I entered the sitting room, there were papers all over it - even fixed to the wall with the first sharp objects that had come to hand, by the looks of things. He had also taken down a picture to draw on the wallpaper that it hides. He had overturned the table (in the dispute with Esme?) and there was tea, coffee, milk and sugar spreading over the floor (he had spared his books and papers but not mopped up the mess) and soaking the carpet amongst broken fine china and cutlery.

"Mr. Holmes!" I felt a good amount of satisfaction when he jumped and looked up at me.

"Thank you for the recommendation of a siesta Mrs. Hudson," said he pleasantly, as if he had done nothing to make me so very angry. "You are quite right - I do feel very much brighter."

I wagged my finger at him. "What is the meaning of all this mess?"

"Mess? Oh. I have been somewhat lost in thought and activity. Did I do this?"

I could hardly believe my ears! "Yes! You did - all by yourself."

"Well, I am sure that the doctor..."

"He is away on urgent business Mr. Holmes, as I am sure you remember."

"Oh. Yes. Yes, so he is. A pity. I would have valued his company during this case."

That has to be the first time that I have ever heard anything resembling affection alluded to by the odd man. His tone might have been unattached, but something in his eyes spoke of a longing for company. Despite my irritation, I felt my heart soften somewhat. Never the less, I was dealing with a difficult lodger and I was not about to let him off simply because he looked a bit sad.

"You have broken my best tea set."

"And what business did Esme have to come in here with it and to wake me?" he snapped. "I was at peace - I was... Oh! It is of little importance now. Wretched girl!"

"I am sure that she meant well."

"I do not doubt it Mrs. Hudson - they always do."

"You are going to have to buy me a new tea set or I shall have no good china to hand for when your clients come here."

He grunted. "Very well."

"And I want this room tidy before nightfall or... or... or else I shall report you and see that you spend the Christmas season looking for somewhere else to stay."

I meant not a word of it, but he seemed to think that I did. In his shock, his pipe fell from his mouth. Fortunately, it had already gone out. I have little doubt that the doctor will be hearing stories of wicked housekeepers that wish to see consulting detectives starve or freeze to death on the street when he returns.

I am still more than a little put out - I should not have to make such threats to get through to him! - but he has tidied up the sitting room, replaced my fine china and also given me a bouquet of Christmas roses. Perhaps this means that he is feeling some remorse.


	5. Deprivation

**Prompt for the 5thof December From Lucillia - Midnight.**

I had wanted an early night. After a long, trying day it would have been pleasant to curl myself beneath my warm, welcoming coverlets and to sleep away the strain and fatigue-induced headache that has been plaguing me since mid-morning.

There is no point in complaining to Holmes; he would only look hurt and enquire whether I no longer enjoy partaking of his adventures. Which I of course do.

"Come along Watson!" my companion calls over his shoulder much too cheerfully as he matches on ahead. "Do be a good chap and keep up."

'Keep up' indeed! I am dreadfully cold, intolerably hungry and deucedly tired. I want to go home. My leg is paining me now as well and I doubt very much that I could keep up with my irksome and thoughtless companion even if I were to put every last shred of my remaining energy into it.

Holmes stops abruptly and his eyes sweep over me in the darkness. "Are you quite well?"

"Yes," I all but growl in response.

He frowns and takes me by the arm. "What ever is the matter old fellow? Do you tire of my company? Are you bored of my cases?"

"No Holmes. No. It is not that."

"What then?" he demands to know. "You say that you are not unwell and that you wish to be here, so what is wrong?"

It is not in a gentleman's code to complain, so how can I explain it to him? I groan and rub a hand across my eyes and forehead.

"You are unwell!" Holmes accuses me somewhat sharply. "Really Watson! Why did you not tell me as much? I cannot read minds."

"I am not ill!" I snap back at him. "I have a headache - due to the strains of the day Holmes. I have after all had rather a long day."

He gazes at me anew. "You are weary. Hungry as well, no doubt. Cold..." he shivers as if noticing the chill in the air for the first time since we left the house. He probably is. "If I am cold, you must also be cold."

I sniff quietly. "A little," I confess.

"You should have said as much. Come, there is a cab stand but a short distance from here. The owner of which owes me a favour."

We fall into step with ease, his pace slowing to match mine.

"I should have realised that you were suffering," my companion remarks. "I owe you my sincerest apologies old fellow. But you do know how it is..."

"Yes. You get caught up and swept away by the thrill of the chase."

His eyes sparkle as he smiles at me. "Quite so. Well, here we are. Choose an empty cab and climb up - I feel like a drive anyway."

I heed his directives and swathe myself in half of the blankets in my chosen cab. It is the one that provides the most shelter from the elements, for I am quite cold and miserable enough.

After a short discussion with the night watchman, Holmes scrambles up beside me, accepting his share of the blankets with another shiver.

"You have chosen well," says he. "This seat is very comfortable. Oh, Watson! Do cease your yawning! Look, it is a beautiful night, we have the promise of a case that should be as intriguing as it is exciting before us... What more could you possibly wish for?"

"Sleep," I retort. "I have been up since four o'clock this morning, you know. What is the time now?"

He looks at his watch and sniffs. "It is just midnight. But really Watson! How was I to know that you were up at such an hour when you did not tell me as much? Go on then! Sleep if you must. I suppose I should locate an inn."

"Yes please..." I give another yawn. "And if you are able to locate a vendor still selling food at this hour, I would be most grateful. I have had not a bite of lunch, tea, dinner or supper."

I hear my companion grumble. "I am not likely to locate anything other than jellied eels at such an hour!"

"I am hungry enough to partake of worse," I assure the fellow as I permit the motion of the cab to lull me to sleep while my companion splutters and attempts to explain to me why it is he would prefer to go hungry while disguised as a man of the lower classes than to partake of his fare.

Around us, midnight passes into early morning while the frosty stars and moon shine on. And I dream of warming fires, soft beds and Mrs. Hudson's good cooking.


	6. Slipping Standards

**Prompt for the 6th of December From Madam'zelleGiry - "I don't know what London's coming to —the higher the buildings the lower the morals." ―Noël Coward**

I am almost knocked completely off of my feet by one of two swaying, cackling women as they shove past Holmes and I, having staggered from a thoroughly disreputable nearby public house. Having given my shoulder a glancing blow, she then shouts a vulgar stream of obscenities and spits in my general direction even as Holmes hastily pulls me out of harm's way.

"Beastly hag," says he once we are safely out of earshot. "The filthy, drunken wretch of a washer woman! How dare she speak to you in such a fashion! Had she been a man, I would have flailed the hide from her! I am sure I know not what London is coming to!" His eyes soften and he slowly relaxes, forcing his breathing to slow. He turns to scrutinise me. "You are not hurt are you Watson? I saw that she have your poor shoulder quite a blow."

I assure him that only my pride has been hurt as we continue on our way.

We have not gone far when we see a group of men that are shamelessly eating fish and chips and drinking bottled beer in the street. The group begin to roar with laughter when one of the younger fellows belonging to it suddenly bends to the side to vomit onto the flagstone pavement.

"Truly, the moral standards of our fair city are most certainly slipping," sniffs Holmes. "I have a mind to retire. I recall the days when only the lowest of the low would think to eat in the street like a stray cat. And as for being drunken and disorderly... And women entering a public house... What next Watson? Argh!"

The shocked and outraged sound is uttered as we both stop and stare in spite of ourselves. There in front of us, and not making any effort to conceal what he is doing, is a rather smartly-dressed young man relieving himself into the gutter.

"What?" he demands of us as if what he is doing is perfectly respectable behaviour.

"Come Watson," my friend urges me, shaking the arm that his is linked through as he hastily begins to walk on.

"This is the last time - the very last - that I shall insist upon walking home after an evening out of any kind," Holmes informs me as his shaking hands unlock our door. "The city is sickening Watson and it makes me positively ill in turn! I have met criminals that would not behave with such poor morals as those that we have seen tonight."

I attempt to comfort the fellow as I pour us each a brandy. I am myself shocked by all that I have seenin the street tonight, but the reaction of my companion shocks me still more. With all that he has seen, I had expected him to take such things in his stride. However, perhaps even his sensibilities are not without their limits.

The fellow takes his glass from me and downs a good measure of it. "I shall retire," says he with finality. "Even I cannot go on forever and I have seen all the evidence this night that the world has changed in ways that I no longer can or wish to. The higher the buildings, it seems to me, the lower the morality of those within the walls."

"But what would you do?" What would I do? I have grown accustomed to Holmes and his cases. Surely he could not retire?

The fellow shrugs. "Find something else, I suppose."


	7. The Sleigh

**Prompt for the 7th of December From Poseidon God of the Seas - Sleigh.**

The snow outside was much too deep for a carriage to traverse the roads that day. I had already accepted that I would not be accompanying Holmes - I was aching from the long journey, more than half of which had been on foot in the knee-high snow, of the day before - and I suspected that I also had the beginnings of a cold, though my symptoms could all just as easily be caused by fatigue.

Miserably, I prepared to be told by Holmes to remain indoors, to keep myself warm and to wait until he had need of me.

"What are you feeling like?" the detective instead asked of me as he entered our twin room.

I gazed at the fellow in some surprise. "I am all right Holmes. Do you have need of me?"

His grey eyes swept over me and he gave a slight nod. "Would you care to accompany me for a drive? I should be glad of your company today."

"And I would be glad of yours. But a drive old fellow? In this weather? It was difficult enough to walk in it yesterday."

He smiled and took me by the arm to lead me out into the chill Austrian air. "I have arranged a little surprise for you my dear Watson. Come along!"

There waiting for us was a magnificent, gilded sleigh, pulled by two beautiful bay horses. I felt my face light up with a bright smile at the sight of it.

"Do you like it?" my companion asked with a small smile of his own.

"Thank you Holmes," said I gratefully as he helped me up before climbing in at my side. The supplied blankets and furs were hastily arranged to best keep out the elements and then my companion took the reins and we were away.

I settled my protesting leg gratefully beneath my share of the furs as the landscape rushed by. Already my mood had much improved.


	8. Vampires

**Prompt for the 8th of December From Poseidon - God of the Seas - Dracula.**

Having awoken from my fourth nightmare in as many nights on the floor in a tangle of blankets, I attempted to calm my ragged breathing as I looked about me. I was in my room at Baker Street. I was perfectly safe, though I did - as I had on every other occasion - feel an inexplicable urge to reassure myself that Holmes was safe and well by going down and checking on him. The idea was preposterous and I attempted to put the thought to the back of my mind as I returned myself to my bed.

"Watson?" the soft whisper of my companion enquired as he gently opened the servants' door of my room and peered around it. "Are you all right old fellow?"

I nodded and offered him an apologetic smile, feeling much better now that I knew that he was indeed quite safe but rather guilty for having disturbed him.

He frowned and approached my bedside, setting the lighted candle that he carried down before sitting at my side and touching my forehead with his nervous fingers.

"What ever is the matter my dear Watson?"

I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly and lowered my gaze to my hands.

"Watson," said he rather sternly. "I know that you are not sleeping. What is it? What ails you?"

"I am not unwell Holmes."

"Well, I am not convinced. You have been pale and listless of late, your appetite is not as it should be... Clearly, you are not yourself. If you are well, what is it?"

I shrugged, still quite unable to meet his gaze. "Nightmares."

"About what?" he demanded to know. "We have had no cases that were particularly horrifying or dangerous of late. The last overly dangerous one that we shared was months ago - and I did not think that you were affected."

I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "It is inexplicable. I know not what has caused it."

And yet I did. There had first been the case of the Sussex Vampire - at the very beginning of which Holmes had succeeded in frightening me much more than I cared to admit - and then, much more recently, we had been set upon by three understudies in vampire costumes while we were investigating a theatre. Holmes had been bitten by one of the men - the teeth were horribly sharp - and the injuries had been slow to cease their bleeding.

For some inexplicable reason, my subconscious had linked these cases together and decided to make the vampires terribly real. Holmes would not understand it - I could not understand it, after all.

"Would you feel better for some music?" Holmes enquired gently.

I nodded and settled back, doing my utmost to calm myself. Eventually, Holmes' violin soothed me back to slumber and I remained in a deep sleep until late the following morning.

That was two nights ago and I had thought that those nightmares had finally ceased. Tonight, I have discovered myself to be wrong and so I have decided to write it down in the hope of putting my thoughts into some sort of order.

At the beginning of the Sussex Vampire case, I entered our sitting room to find Holmes hunched at his desk, covering his eyes. Fearing the fellow to be unwell, I had approached whilst gently calling his name.

With a hiss he had turned sharply in his chair, baring two pointed fangs at me while his grey eyes stared at me rather strangely. He was wearing make-up to make himself appear even paler than usual and I had recoiled in fear and revulsion before I knew quite what I was doing. I do believe that the fellow was rather amused.

That, together with what has taken place more recently at the theatre, is what has formed my dream, which never varies.

I take a wounded and bleeding Holmes back to Baker Street, as I had done that day, and leave him a moment to retrieve my bag from my room upstairs. When I return, I find him hunched in his chair with his eyes covered, as I have already described. The fellow then turns and attacks me before he leaps through the window in a shower of breaking glass without giving me a chance to react in any way.

This bad dream has now gone on for long enough to cause me to feel unsafe in my own sitting room. I cannot relax enough to eat and I am more unsettled now, I believe, than I was when I returned from Afghanistan. Yet I know this to be nonsense!

What can this dream mean and how can I possibly rid myself of it? I know that Holmes wishes to help, but he would surely think me ridiculous were he to know what is happening to me. I cannot bring myself to talk to him about it.

**Author's Note: I am not very happy with this one, but I honestly knew not what to do with this prompt. My apologies.**


	9. Stray Cats and Engineers

**Prompt for the 9th of December From Hades Lord of the Dead - Write yourself into a story!**

It was a bitterly cold December morning and I was occupying myself with the case notes of previous adventures while Holmes curled miserably upon the sofa under a heap of blankets, smoking his pipe. He was in a dour mood and I was not feeling terribly cheerful myself.

A ring of the bell downstairs caught my attention. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"No," Holmes replied from his bundle of blankets. "I trust you have not invited Lestrade 'round unannounced?"

"Not after the last time, no." Why Holmes would so pointedly and rudely ignore our old friend as he had that evening I shall never understand.

Mrs. Hudson entered the room at that moment. "A gentleman to see you Mr. Holmes. He is most insistent and seems terribly upset."

Holmes took the card that she presented to him and read it. "Mr. Alexander Knight, Engineer. Hum! Good quality card - a fine quality! Very good weight to it. Show him up, Mrs. Hudson! Engineers never fail to make interesting clients."

With that, the fellow tossed aside his blankets and leapt to his feet in a sudden burst of energy.

In came quite a tall gentleman with green eyes and dark hair. He stood straight with his shoulders back, but he was stepping from one foot to the other and pulled at the brim of the top hat that he held in his hands. The fellow was not particularly handsome, but, as with all men of his profession, he had a striking sharpness about his eyes.

"Mr. Holmes," said he as he offered his hand to my companion. "Please help me. I am in terrible trouble."

"Dear me! Calm yourself my dear Mr. Knight and sit yourself beside the fire - I perceive that you are shivering. Watson, get the chap some brandy."

I did as instructed and offered the fellow my chair, which he gratefully accepted along with the drink.

"Now, perhaps you would like to tell me just what is the matter. Tell me all, from beginning to end. Aside from the obvious - that you are engaged, that you own two cats and that you often care for two young children, I know nothing about you aside from your profession."

The gentleman gave a start with an expression of amazement and so I began to explain.

"You are very well presented for a bachelor but do not wear a wedding band. You have two packets of sweets and a toy bear in your overcoat pockets and there are hairs about the shins of your trousers - some are quite brown and the rest are grey, so there must be two - and cats do have a habit of rubbing themselves against a fellow's legs."

Holmes sniffed. "How absurdly simple. Now, Mr. Knight, the facts..."

"You are of course right on all counts," said he. "But of course, I should tell my story. One of my cats has disappeared. They were a present from my fiancée and she will become upset if she believes me to have been negligent."

Holmes sniffed derisively. "I am rather a busy man Mr. Knight. I do not have time or energy to waste combing London for stray cats. My advice would be to put out an advertisement in shop windows, offering a reward. If he does not return of his own accord when his stomach overrides his desire for adventure or freedom, he will surely be returned to you. Good day."

"He vanished from inside a locked room!" our client wailed. "Surely that must interest you?"

Holmes narrowed his eyes and pressed our client's calling card to his lips as he reconsidered.

"Come Watson," said he after a moment. "You and I have a stray cat to investigate. Not a word of this to the imbeciles of the Yard, mind you."

**Author's Note: I hope that you have enjoyed this piece. I do believe that it was the hardest yet.**

**By the way, I do indeed have two cats, called Holmes and Watson (I would never tell Sherlock Holmes or Doctor Watson as much, mind you), and they were indeed a gift from my fiancée. Furthermore, Holmes has gone wandering more than once - on the last occasion, through a very high, very small bathroom window that I was sure that he would not be able to reach. If I turn grey young, it will be his doing!**


	10. Christmas Eve

**Prompt for the 10th of December From TemporarilyAbaft - 'Rampage', 'lank', 'desk', 'south', 'leap', and 'sketch' – all used in a story (leniency on tenses and plurals; no specific order; go for it!)**

When I came down to breakfast, I discovered a note on the table beside the empty coffee pot. It was rushed and simply informed me that Holmes had gone out and knew not when he might return. That did not come as a surprise, per se, but as the day was Christmas Eve I did feel somewhat saddened and disappointed. How could he work on Christmas Eve anyhow? I myself only would in a matter of life and death.

With a sigh (and breakfast, for once, quite forgotten), I took to my desk. I supposed that I had might as well organise a Christmas shopping list before taking to the high street, taking advantage of the lack of a complaining detective or wailing violin to interfere with my concentration.

The streets were busy, but I enjoyed myself - a bustling high street full of rampaging shoppers on Christmas Eve is festive and excitement filled the air as I made my purchases. I hardly noticed the chill in the air or the threat of the heavy snow clouds as they slowly obscured the blue sky and wintery sun.

I did not stop until I had a gift for every one of my friends. Suddenly finding myself to be feeling weak and weary, I checked my watch and realised that I had missed both breakfast and lunch, as I have so often chastised Holmes for doing. Perhaps it is somewhat easier to do than I had realised.

"Watson!"

I turned in surprise as none other than Sherlock Holmes approached me.

"Where the deuce have you been?" the fellow demanded to know. "When I returned to Baker Street, I thought that you would still be there in this weather. It is going to snow, you know. Here, let me take those bags."

I was glad that I had been able to afford to have Holmes' gifts wrapped in the shop, for I have little doubt that he would have noticed at least one of them - however unintentionally - when he confiscated my bags and took my arm.

"Are you hungry?" he enquired as he studied my face.

I nodded but did not confess that I had not had more than a cup of tea since I had got up that morning.

He gave a relieved smile. "Mrs. Hudson was frightfully concerned when she discovered that you had not had a bite to eat this morning. Too busy, were you? Or simply too excited, perhaps?"

Of course I could not keep anything from the irksome fellow. "All right Holmes! Point taken. I admit it, I missed both breakfast and lunch. But it is not a thing that I am in the habit of doing..."

He chuckled and hailed a cab. "Indeed not - and kindly refrain from doing so. Up you go Watson."

I climbed inside the growler that had stopped and Holmes leapt up beside me, his face bright with amusement. He tossed the provided blankets about us both and directed the driver to take us to Simpsons.

The meal was a quiet affair. Holmes was pensive and silent, but did eat some of his meal. I also ate without a word, leaving my companion to his thoughts.

"Do you have anywhere that you need to be?" my friend asked of me when the plates were cleared away and the bill paid.

I shook my head. "No, I did not have much to do."

"Back to Baker Street then? I do believe that the weather is indeed turning, as predicted."

"If there is nowhere else that you need to be old fellow."

He smiled and shook his head as we took up our outdoor clothing and sticks. "No indeed. My work is done; the villain caught and the innocent freed. The remainder of the day is ours."

As we hailed a cab the snow started to fall in a gentle flurry. My companion growled.

"A white Christmas is festive old fellow," said I.

He snorted. "It is a damned nuisance! I have a mind to travel south for the winter - or else to hibernate!"

I laughed at the very idea. "Hibernate? You find sleeping for an entire night difficult enough. You would become bored - you know that you would."

"Then I shall have to save what money I can and travel south for the winter. Do not laugh Watson - I was going to ask if you would come."

I grinned, for I found it quite impossible to take him seriously. "I would be delighted my dear fellow. Where would you go? The Rivera?"

He hummed and stretched his lank body in a languid manner while the cab slowed to a crawl as the traffic about us was forced to reduce its speed by the falling snow. "Perhaps. It would be better than remaining here. It is freezing!"

"It is winter," I retorted. "Really Holmes!"

"Really Watson! After Afghanistan, it surprises me very much that you can bear it..." he shivered and huddled beneath his blankets, muttering something beneath his breath about horrible English weather.

Suddenly concerned, I rested a hand upon his knee. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course I am Watson. Bored, that is all. I have partaken of the most commonplace, elementary affair..." he shook his head and rubbed at his forehead with a gloved hand. "I have had to prove to Gregory that he had the wrong man, that the evidence against him was circumstantial at best... I wore myself out over it! And then the wretched inspector did not even have the common decency to see that I was present when the perpetrator was finally caught."

"What was the crime? A murder?"

Holmes shook his head and sniffed. "A theft. The only evidence was a dropped cigarette, a matchbook and a sketch."

I leaned closer. "A sketch?"

"A sketch, yes. On the wall next to the window - in charcoal. What do you make of that Watson?"

I frowned and leaned back again. "I am sure I don't know! What did you make of it?"

Holmes smiled. "My client's husband is an artist. He has a distinctive - though quite easy to copy, as I myself demonstrated - sketching style. If I were about to commit a crime, I would not draw on the wall at the scene. Not unless doing so might implicate somebody else - particularly if I held a grudge against the fellow and had already threatened to ruin him."

"I see. So, this enemy planned the entire thing."

Holmes snorted. "He did indeed - and expected to get away with it. He was found at home, with the valuables in his safe. It was so ludicrously simple that Gregory was able to make the arrest himself once I had explained the particulars. Never again Watson - never again shall I give information so very freely before I have you at my side to enjoy the conclusion of the case."

With that, the fellow lapsed into a stony silence, the prelude of a black mood.

I cleared my throat somewhat nervously. "Holmes..."

He gave a start and looked up with a disgruntled frown. "Yes?"

I took one of the packages from one of the many bags and offered it to him. "Merry Christmas old fellow."

**I apologise about this one. I feel I rambled somewhat - this is the first time that I have worked to such a brief and I was thrown a little, but I am not quite sure why.**


	11. A Break

**Prompt for the 11th of December From TemporarilyAbaft -Mycroft is forced to endure the company of _...**

"Holmes..." groans Watson as he pinches the bridge of his nose, "Please do stop complaining. I know that you are bored, but if you would only keep your foot elevated above your hip..."

"Doing so is deucedly uncomfortable!" As anyone that has suffered a fractured ankle would know.

"I am sure that it is old fellow, but it will help the swelling to go down and ease the pain."

I sniff disdainfully. "I cannot imagine that it is going to go down at all today."

"Well no. Probably not old man. But it will go down considerably faster. Oh! Now what are you doing? You surely cannot possibly have to get up again."

"I have to get dressed. Mycroft is expecting me at the Diogenes Club. A matter of great national importance and all that."

Watson stops me from rising hastily. "You have a broken ankle!"

"Really Watson! When have you ever allowed your bad leg to stop you?"

He glares at me. Damn! I have most certainly said the wrong thing.

"I do not have a fractured ankle. If I did have, I would be doing my utmost to allow it to heal."

"But... This is incredibly dull!"

I glance in the direction of the washroom, wondering whether I would be able to sneak into my bedroom from there in order to dress.

"Are you all right Holmes?"

No, the very idea is ludicrous. The doctor would have to assist me in changing my clothes anyhow. Even the simple act of washing myself is too awkward to be managed without assistance. It is galling!

"Why exactly does Mycroft wish to see you?" my companion enquires. "He knows that you are hurt."

"He and I agree that it is not very serious."

He snorts. "When you attempted to stand on it, you almost fainted."

I glare at him. "I did not mean to stand on it - I was unprepared."

"The pain has been enough to make you nauseous - I very much doubt that you shall enjoy a cab ride."

That is very true and I cannot deny it. Damn! "But it could be of the utmost importance to the crown Watson!"

"We shall have to hope that it is nothing that cannot wait. Why do you not allow me to go in your place, if you are feeling well enough to be left?"

I am not at all sure that I would like to be left. "You also have a bad leg."

"Indeed I do, but mine is not going to become worse if I were to stand on it - which is just as well, seeing as I have been required to carry your weight as well as my own."

That is unfair!

"Do you wish for me to attend the interview with Mycroft in your stead or not?"

I shake my head. "No. It is terribly cold out and such weather will do you no good. We shall send Lestrade."

"Lestrade? Does Mycroft even know Lestrade?" Watson is staring at me as if I have taken leave of my senses.

I shrug. "Lestrade is the best of a bad lot."

"Your brother would never trust a Yarder! He would send for one himself if it was that sort of a problem."

I shrug and smile. "But a meeting between the two could prove interesting, do you not think?"

Watson snorts.

"Let me put it to you this way... I shall send Lestrade with a note. Said note will say 'if you wish to pique the interest of an injured detective, it would be advisable to tell him what the matter is'."

He snorts again. "And the next time, he shall do his utmost to pique your interest."

"Naturally. I very much doubt that he shall wish to suffer that Yarder's company more than once - you know how Lestrade talks!"

I chuckle to myself at the thought and close my suddenly heavy eyes as I lean back into the cushions at my head, carefully stretching my injured limb as I recline on the settee. Morphine. He has dosed me with morphine.

"Sherlock!"

I jerk awake as the door of the sitting room slams and blink up at the visitor standing before the settee as I attempt to give the appearance of alertness. My brother is puffing and blowing, his face flushed, and he is dabbing at his perspiring brow with his handkerchief.

"Mycroft, your brother requires rest and quiet," Watson scolds. "Mending a broken bone demands a lot of energy - Holmes might become unwell if he does not rest."

I sniff and sit up as straight as I can. "I feel perfectly well." Aside from the headache and persistent nausea, anyhow. Distraction is what I need.

Mycroft leans closer to me, his eyes blazing with cold fury, and I am suddenly all too aware of my vulnerable position.

"Never again," my brother growls dangerously. "Never again will you send Scotland Yard to my club. Do you understand me Sherlock?"

I nod and avert my gaze.

"If that is all that you came for," Watson begins.

My brother waves a big hand. "I am leaving Doctor. I can see that my brother shall be of little use."

I attempt to leap to my feet in indignation. Fortunately, a cry of alarm from Watson is enough to cause me to check myself. Confound my damned leg! It is little wonder that my companion can become so frustrated with himself on occasion. I shall have to remember this helplessness and be kinder from now on.

"Good evening Doctor Watson, Sherlock," my brother says in a pleasant tone, as if he has not been shouting or throwing insults at me. "I do hope that your poor leg feels better soon, brother mine."

I growl something scathing in Latin at his retreating back. Tonight, it is the best that I can manage.


	12. Spirits and Angels

**Prompt for the 12th of December From Hades Lord of the Dead - Spiritualism.**

"There is no such thing," Holmes said firmly as he loaded his pipe.

"I tell you that I have seen one!" said I somewhat forcefully.

The detective turned to regard me a moment before speaking again. "Oh, Watson! It could easily be explained away - fatigue, survivor's guilt..."

"I was not that tired! Furthermore, I had not even been thinking of the war or casualties."

The eyes of my companion drifted into space for a moment. "But those that we fail to save are never far from our minds, are they?"

And suddenly I understood. I am not the only man that sometimes sees the face of some poor soul that he was powerless to save, but, unlike myself, Holmes cannot permit himself to roam into the realms of spiritualism.

"I do have one interesting story," the detective said suddenly as he lit the pipe that he had almost forgotten. "Do you believe in angels Watson?"

I gave a slight start. "Angels? Well, yes. The Bible talks of them often enough - certainly more frequently than it does ghosts - but why do you ask? Have you had a visitation?"

The fellow laughed and resumed his chair across from mine. "No. Nothing as grand as that - and I am sure that my experiences could be as easily explained as yours. However, it was odd... Would you like to hear about it?"

"Well, yes. If you wish to talk about it."

Holmes leaned back and regarded me for a moment. "While I was in Switzerland alone, I missed you terribly - your experience, advice... encouragement. I recall one night, during a severe storm, I could find no shelter and missed your optimism and encouragement. I was already quite fagged - more so than I ever recall being before or since. Even my heart felt weary, if that makes any sense, though I suppose that that could simply have been melancholia... In any case, I was intolerably weary and quite homesick and lonely. Yes Watson, lonely - do not look so very surprised."

I apologised hastily, realising that this might well be the very reason that he had so often chosen not to speak of his hiatus.

"I know not for how long I walked, searching in vain for shelter whilst knowing that I was already as wet and cold as even a bath of I've water could make me, when a man was suddenly walking beside me.

"He was no ghost, for the inclement weather was soaking him as surely as it was soaking me, and at first I paid him little heed, save for the usual amount of mistrust that any stranger would have been regarded with."

I was leaning forward in my chair, listening with keen interest.

"Quite suddenly, the fellow remarked that I was shivering and no longer quite succeeding in stifling my sneezes..."

I frowned and interrupted in spite of myself. "How the deuce did he know that you had been stifling the things? I am both a doctor and your friend, but I find it terribly difficult to tell if you are sneezing when you conceal them - even if I am watching for the wretched things!"

The detective smiled. "Ha ha! Yes, I thought that you might pick up on that. Excellent Watson! Well, anyway, that was what he said and he gave me his coat - and very warm it was too - and then he left me. I did not even see him go."

I felt somewhat disappointed. Surely that could not be the end of the story?

"I had not gone far when he was again beside me," my friend continued after a moment. "He directed me to a chalet - owned by a doctor, no less. I would never have found the place by myself either Watson - not in that deluge and the darkness. It was not possible.

"But my companion did not enter the chalet with me and instead vanished without even taking back his coat or bidding me au revoir. But I did see him again, long after that, once or twice - always when I was injured, ailing or in some form of unseen danger. He would tell me what to do to help myself if I was unsure - and someone would always miraculously appear to aid me when I was unable to do anything for myself. I am not particularly religious, as you know, and nor am I superstitious; but I did come to think of that fellow as my guardian angel."

"I am glad that you had someone watching over you old man," said I fondly, as I offered a silent prayer of thanks. "It is strange, do you not think, however, that he has not been about since your return."

My companion chuckled and wagged the stem of his pipe at me. "Not in the least my dear Watson! With you watching over me, a guardian angel - however competent - is left quite redundant, I assure you."

With that, he settled back in his chair and changed the subject to something entirely different. But I never did forget his story, nor his thinly-veiled thanks.

**Author's Note: I do hope that you have enjoyed this piece. I have discussed guardian angels with my friend and Beta once or twice, as we both have had some odd experiences. I thought that, of the two, Holmes might prefer those beings over ghosts.**

**I must add, however, that Watson rather hinted that one cannot really believe in one and not the other. Stranger things twixt Heaven and Earth and all that.**


	13. Blacksmith's Fingers

**Prompt for the 13th of December From Stutley Constable - A blacksmith's fingers.**

Inspector Cokes strutted before us like a little pompous bantam cockrel, his chest puffed out as he regarded myself and my companion.

"I do not need Sherlock Holmes' assistance!" he shouted in our faces. "I know all your methods Holmes - I have studied them! - I can tell a farmer by his squint and a blacksmith by his fingers!"

I automatically started to try to see how a blacksmith could be identified by his fingers or a farmer by his squint, when Holmes gave a snort of suppressed laughter and I turned to see that his lips were twitching with contained amusement while his grey eyes glittered.

"That is most impressive. How exactly would you know a farmer by his squint?"

The little man puffed himself up even further at the praise, clearly having failed to notice the sarcasm in the tone of my friend. "Is it not obvious? He would be constantly in bright sunlight or a dark barn - it would give any man a squint."

Holmes nodded and gave me a little smile. "Quite so. And the blacksmith?"

"He would have burns and scars on his fingers from the heat."

My friend chuckled. "I think not. A skilled blacksmith would remember to wear gloves."

"Well, they would be strong, thick - but skilful."

The detective threw back his head and laughed. "This is most enlightening! Surely his hands - fingers, thumb, palms, wrists - in the entirety would speak of his trade much more than just his fingers? Had you said 'calluses', I might have been impressed...

"But really," he went on, shaking his head. "Really, what you say is nothing more than pompous twaddle. Further more, a farmer might develop a squint as you say, but any man with weak eyes could easily have the same affliction. You should perhaps study harder Inspector. Good day."

Naturally, Holmes did not work with the man - he would have refused to in any case, so assured was he that he could beat my companion at his own game - and so we instead worked against him.

Unfortunately, Cokes accused the wrong man and almost had the poor fellow hanged. It took us days to sort the confusion caused by the inspector out and our own investigation was hampered dreadfully as a consequence.

When Holmes and I finally apprehended the murderer, however, everything was soon put to rights.

As for Mr. Cokes, I do believe that his career suffered a terrible blow as a result of his foolish pride. He has now moved to a quiet village, in the hope of beginning again. May the fellow never be presented with a complicated crime.


	14. One Dance

**Prompt for the 14th of December From cjnwriter - Dancing.**

The crowd on the dance floor swirls in an array of colours and sparkle as I watch with little interest. Why the deuce am I here? Nobody would notice if I were to leave - well, nobody apart from the irritating young ladies that will insist on asking me to dance. I do believe that a gentleman should ask a young lady, if he feels so inclined, and that it is improper for a woman to make such advances. However, they are very young - perhaps too young to know better.

I am becoming increasingly aggravated when a familiar figure approaches me with a swish of ballgown fabrics.

"Would you care to dance Mr. Holmes?"

"My dear Mrs. Watson," I permit myself a small smile, for her request is most certainly borne out of charity. "Surely you would be happier with your husband?"

She takes my hand and drags me out onto the floor amid the many dancers. "As would you, no doubt. Come now Mr. Holmes! One dance will do you no harm."

And with that, we are soon whirling with the rest of the dancers. She smiles at me merrily.

When the dance is over I prepare to return to my little corner; Mrs. Watson, however, is having none of that. With rather more force than I would ever have thought her capable of, she drags me back to the table occupied by her husband.

Watson has married a woman as good and kind as himself. For that, above all else, I am most grateful. Perhaps there should be an exception made to my rule regarding women.


	15. Old Bookshops

**Prompt for the 15th of December From W. Y. Traveller - Bookshop**

Watson is not the only fellow that loves bookshops. While he will lose himself within a sea of romanticised fiction, I will lose myself in the realms of the factual.

We enter the old bookshop together and almost at once part company. He finds my favoured books heavy going, I find his nonsensical.

We both, however, love the feel of the pages between our fingers, the cool roughness of old leather and the smell of book-dust. There is nothing quite like an old bookshop.


	16. Missing Tobacco

**Prompt for the 16th of December From Sendai - The case of the missing personally blended tobacco**

**I dedicate the following to my darling fiancée, with an apology for those moments when I can be particularly trying - and my thanks for standing by me anyway. Merry Christmas Hatty.**

I awoke to the smell of Holmes' favoured brand of cigarette smoke and groaned. It had been a late night - or, rather, an early morning - when I had taken to my bed and I was in no hurry to rise from it.

"Good morning Watson," said my companion pleasantly. "Did you sleep well?"

I gave a low moan and addressed him with a bleary glare. "What is it that you want Holmes?"

He gave me the ghost of a smile and finished his cigarette. "You have not seen my new tobacco that I only purchased yesterday, perchance?"

"Oh Holmes!" I groaned dismally. "Really! You immediately filled the Persian slipper affixed to the fireplace with it. Surely you remember?"

"That is what I thought I did with it, yes. You have not removed it, I trust?"

I was becoming increasingly annoyed. "Why would I do that?" I demanded of him. "Really Holmes! If you wish to accuse me of something, why do you not simply have out with it?"

"I am not accusing you of anything - I only wish to know whether you might have any I idea in regards to it how it has come to now be empty. Has Mrs. Hudson taken it?"

"Why do you not ask her?" said I with a yawn. "Though I see no reason why she would. Mrs. Hudson does not smoke."

He frowned. "Then you have not seen it since I filled the slipper with it. How strange!"

All was quiet for a moment or two and my sleep-deprived brain began to resume its slumber.

"Come Watson," Holmes tapped my shoulder, startling me from my doze. "The game is afoot!"

Almost before I knew what was happening to me, I was marched down the stairs to our sitting room. Holmes investigated the slipper with his magnifying lens while I turned my attention to lighting the fire to warm the chilly room.

"Watson! You are destroying evidence! Move away - the hearth can wait."

The hearth could most certainly not wait as far as I was concerned. I was feeling the cold quite keenly due to my lack of adequate sleep and would have been glad of a warming fire.

I took to the sofa and huddled there miserably, attempting once again to resume my slumber.

"Come and look at this!" My companion ordered me suddenly as he beckoned to me with his lens.

I sniffed and folded my arms in an effort to warm them. "I thought that you wanted me to stay out of your way lest I disturb your evidence."

The fellow turned to regard me for a moment. "What ever is the matter with you this morning?"

"Nothing."

He frowned. "You are very quiet... Your old wound is hurting you, is it not? Your tread was decidedly uneven when we descended the stairs from your room."

"I must say that I am surprised that you noticed."

The fellow closed his eyes and then turned his attention back to the fireplace with a grumble that was barely audible.

"What exactly is the meaning of that?" he demanded to know without turning back to face me.

I shrugged and sniffed again. I was weary, cold and annoyed that it had not occurred to him until now that I was not feeling myself.

"Watson, would you please come here?" the irksome fellow requested. "I shall light you a fire myself if you would only confirm that I am not imaging things."

With a resigned sigh I made my way to his side and was made to peer at the hearth through his magnifying lens.

"Tell me... what do you see?" the detective prompted.

I looked and looked again. "These look like tiny footprints."

"Yes indeed. Pointed-toed shoes, but tiny. I doubt that they would fit on the end of my finger. And look here! There is a thread caught on the fireplace here and scuff marks. What could this mean?"

I chuckled quietly and shook my head wearily. "It means, my dear fellow, that there are some mysteries that even the great Sherlock Holmes cannot solve - for it would appear that your tobacco was spirited away by gnomes."

"Really Watson!"

I held up a hand. "I am suggesting nothing old man, but that is what your evidence would suggest to me. Besides, once we have eliminated the impossible..."

"You need not mock me."

I touched his shoulder. "It is not my intention to mock you. I simply see no other explanation - it does not mean that I believe it."

He frowned at me through narrow, sleep-starved eyes. "You are not playing tricks with me, are you Watson?"

I gave a rather impolite yawn. "Oh, excuse me. No Holmes, I am not. To do so I would have had to have come downstairs and removed the tobacco from the slipper - without you hearing me - when I would much prefer to sleep. No, I am not playing tricks."

He groaned and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Forgive me old fellow. You are of course right."

I grumbled quietly and resumed my place on the sofa. Holmes then decided to give me his favourite form of apology by playing some of my favourite pieces - after finding me some blankets and lighting a fire as promised. I believe that I was permitted to sleep until noon on that sofa, with no further unwelcome interruptions.


	17. Three Wishes

**Prompt for the 17th of December From Domina Temporis - The brandy, the sixpence and the three wishes**

It always seems to be Holmes who finds the sixpence in the Christmas pudding. On this occasion, however, he found it in my helping when he was serving us both and so he insisted that we should each make a wish and then make a third together.

As we had both consumed rather more brandy than either one of us are in the habit of drinking (the result of a disturbing outcome to a case spent in the cold for the entire day), he was most insistent in the matter and I was - as is my wont - easily persuaded.

"I wish..." Holmes began, his voice wavering slightly due to the brandy. "I wish that I had been able to return to you when I expected to be able to do so. And I wish that I do not hurt you so very easily when I have only the best intentions."

I have no idea whether these two wishes were related or not. In hindsight, I wish that I had paid better attention - had he even spoken those words?

"That was two wishes," said I, seemingly unable to comprehend exactly what he was saying.

"Then ignore the first as that one cannot come true," he retorted. "I might yet be able to make the second come true. What is your wish friend Watson?"

I rubbed a hand across my eyes and shivered. "I wish for a nice, quiet Christmas Day. One day to relax and simply enjoy one another's company without any near-death experiences or urgent calls to a patient. Peace. For one day."

"You are tired, that is all. Have some more brandy."

"No thank you," said I, forcing myself to sober. "I believe that we have had quite enough brandy now. What should our shared wish be?"

Holmes considered for a long moment. "A pleasantly eventful New Year," said he. "We neither of us cope very well with boredom."

Holmes claims that he remembered not a word that was exchanged over our Christmas dinner, but the next day was just what I had wished for and the fellow even succeeded in being quite jolly. I suspect that he had been paying attention.


	18. Entertaining the Irregulars

**Prompt for the 18th of December From mrspencil - ...a scene involving a countdown**

"Stand back! Watson, for goodness sake keep those young ones back. I shan't set these things off at all if you do not stay still and keep back - yes, that does include you Master Coombes."

This had seemed like a good idea up until now. The little courtyard behind the house is not too small for a garden firework or two and I had thought that perhaps a little selection of the things after our Christmas dinner as a treat (seeing as this is my first Christmas Eve at home since my return from the Continent) would be a perfect finale to our Christmas dinner. Why Watson had decided to invite my Irregulars I am not sure, but I did doubt that that would be wise.

"Come on Mr. Holmes, get on with it!" Wiggins urges me as he assists the struggles of Watson and Mrs. Hudson in keeping the youngest of the children still.

I address the cheeky young man with a sharp glare.

"We should count down from ten," the doctor says. "Join in with me."

The countdown is somewhat ragged - not all of the children can count to ten, let as alone backwards - but Watson and Mrs. Hudson present an adequate lead to follow.

I light the first fuse and hurry back to join the group, taking Watson's hand lest the louder bangs startle him (he may have been all in favour of this idea but I hardly wish to give the dear chap nightmares).

"This is the best Christmas Eve I ever had," Brock, one of the very youngest lads, announces afterwards as we hand out roasted chestnuts, hot mulled wine (or blackcurrant cordial - also heated and spiced - for the very young) and Mrs. Hudson's mince pies.

"I'm just glad we've got Mr. Holmes back," Stevens, another fairly new recruit, says. "The fireworks were nice and everything, but nothing could beat that."

Watson smiles fondly at me as I hastily turn away, swallowing a generous helping of mulled wine to soothe the sudden discomfort in my throat. It must be the smoke from those fireworks, for my eyes are also pricking slightly.

I feel a hand at my shoulder and pat it absently.

"We should hand out the presents old man," Watson whispers.

The ample supply of cases since my return has enabled me to purchase a new waterproof for each of the boys. Mrs. Hudson has knitted scarves and fingerless gloves and Watson has bought them dried fruit to carry with them for hungry days.

As Wiggins is now working, I have bought him a hip flask, which Watson then fills with brandy for him when the young Irregulars have left us.

"You really didn't need to get me anything," he tells me. "Not that I don't like it. It's just that..."

I smile. "You are employed at the Yard and quite independent now. Yes, I know. But it is Christmas Wiggins." And I have missed my Irregulars as much as they would appear to have missed me.

When the last of our visitors have left I sink into my chair beside the hearth and rub a hand across my pricking eyes.

"The smoke?"

I give a start and meet Watson's concerned gaze. "I expect so."

The fellow nods and wets a handkerchief with some water from the carafe.

"Did you enjoy the evening Watson?"

He nods, continuing to watch me closely as I bathe my eyes one after the other. That does help.

"Of course I did Holmes. How could I not?"

I shrug and offer him a small smile. I dreamed of this these last three years and I am so very content simply to be home in London and with Watson this Christmas Eve. What more could I possibly want?


	19. Waking

**Prompt for the 19th of December From silvermouse - Holmes comes out of his coma and reunites with his Boswell.**

I am so very confused. This seems like a normal day at Baker Street, yet there are odd things going on. Nothing stays where I set it down, Watson would seem to be answering my every question in song and Mrs. Hudson is in tears but will not tell me why. Has her cat got himself stuck up the tree behind the house again?

"Holmes? Can you hear me?"

Oh, he is finally talking to me. Thank God for that!

"Yes, of course I can hear you. Really Watson! What the deuce is going on around here today?"

"You could be right Doctor. He does look as though he is coming out of it," says a voice that I do not recognise. It would appear to be coming from my Boswell's pocket - how peculiar!

"Who - and where - are you? And what do I appear to be coming out of?"

"Keep talking to him Doctor - I am monitoring his vitals - it is all right."

Something terribly cold is pressed to my chest and I gasp. "Watson! That is freezing!"

"Holmes!" my dear friend takes my hand in his joyously. "Thank Heavens! I feared the worst!"

I now come to realise that my eyes are closed. Why the deuce are they closed? I force them to open. The room is quite dark and I am not at home, for this is neither my bed nor the settee. That smell. I know that smell.

"Why am I in hospital?" I ask of my jubilant friend in a somewhat accusatory tone - which sets me coughing. I have clearly been unwell.

"You have been unconscious for three days Holmes. I was unable to tend to you at home," the dear chap explains as he helps me to drink some water.

"What happened? Is it to do with the penguin case?"

The fellow stares at me. "Penguin case? What penguin case old fellow?"

I growl with frustration as the details of the case escape me. I recall the hold of a ship filled with ice and penguins, a desperate fight on the deck and a plunge into freezing and murky depths but no details.

"You are most likely recalling a dream old man - you have only just awoke, after all. What you need to do is to rest and permit yourself to recover."

"What did happen to me?"

I do not mean to allow him to catch even a glimpse of my fear, but I have clearly not concealed it as well as I would like for he quickly takes my hand again and squeezes it.

"You will remember everything when you are ready to do so. In the meantime, you must rest."

I shiver at the thought of remaining in this horrid place. "I cannot rest here."

"Holmes..."

I snarl impatiently at my friend. "Could you? Could you remain calm in such a place?"

Again I begin to cough. I hope that I have not caught a workhouse ailment during my stay here.

"You must not distress yourself so. Here, drink some more water - good man - and once you are settled I shall see about getting you home. Just please remember that I can promise nothing."

I finish the water and settle back, for the knowledge that my Boswell will do all in his power is enough to comfort me - he will not leave me here any longer than he must.

Watson has never been one to waste time. In less than an hour I am in a cab at his side, rattling our way through London. I must confess that I am weary and not feeling entirely well, but my dear friend's shoulder is comfortable and welcoming as he keeps his arm securely about me.

As we pass Regents Park a memory assails me, causing me to give a sharp gasp.

"Are you all right?"

I nod wordlessly as I screw my eyes tightly shut. "Remembering. I was assaulted in Regents Park. Put up a passable fight, as I recall, but there were three of them. My feet found some ice and I fell, hit my head... I believe one of them attempted to strangle me."

I feel Watson shudder beside me. "But for the grace of God you might have lost your life. I should never have left you - I knew that you had been threatened."

"You were unwell." I recall urging him to stay indoors.

"My leg was hurting me, that was all."

I shrug. "I promised you that I would take care - that there would be no danger. I did not expect to be set upon in such a public place."

He sniffs quietly. "In future I shall be rather more vigilant. I could not lose you a second time."

I swallow carefully and massage my paining throat.

"We shall be home soon," my Boswell informs me needlessly. "I expect Mrs. Hudson will be somewhat emotional - she has been as concerned as I - so it we would be for the best if you permit her to coddle you a bit. She will soon calm down, you know that."

There is a lot of weeping when Watson helps me in through the front door. It would appear that all at 221B have been fretting needlessly. I permit Billy to (gently) assist me on the stairs while Mrs. Hudson prepares some tea.

I am tired and would like to be given some peace - and to be allowed to smoke, as I have some thinking to do and a murderous gang to catch - but I already feel better now that I am home.


	20. Playing Tricks with Holmes

**Prompt for the 20th of December From Hades Lord of the Dead - Watson has magic - how long until Holmes deduces it?**

What the deuce is happening to me? Last night, the doctor announced that I have a cold - because I sneezed twice in his company! - and that he should like for me to stay in bed today and refrain from smoking. Utterly ludicrous - I am in perfect health and I shall inform him when he next sees fit to mention illness that private consulting detectives have no time for colds and simply do not catch the things.

Where the devil is my pipe rack? Where are my cigarettes and matches? Even my morocco box has disappeared!

"Watson!" There - certainly no cold, as the volume of my shout at the ceiling surely proves. "Watson! What the deuce have you done with my pipes and cigarettes? I need to smoke!"

I do begin to cough now, but I always do when I want that first smoke of the morning, as surely the irksome man above must be aware.

"Watson!"

"I heard you the first time," snaps my companion from the breakfast table behind me. "What are you doing up? You had a fever last night, if you recall - most likely, you have la grippe."

I cough again. "There is nothing wrong with me that an ounce of shag tobacco cannot put to rights - and I do not catch colds! Private consulting detectives have no time for them and illness is all in the mind anyway. A simple matter of positive thinking-"

The fellow snorts. "What do you mean by 'positive thinking'? Do you mean to say that you believe that you can overcome an ailment by simply ignoring it? That is terribly dangerous Holmes!"

I wave a hand dismissively. "I should not have expected a firm believer in modern medicine to understand. Forget it doctor - simply bear in mind that I have my own way of healing myself. Good morning."

"You are not setting foot outside. It has been snowing."

"I shall not be long," I retort as I gather up my coat, hat, muffler, gloves and cane. "I am only going to replace my missing ciga... rettes... Ashoo!"

"Bless you. You really should stop allowing your body to beat you so Holmes - what ever happened to your 'positive thinking'?"

With all the dignity that I can muster, I leave the sitting room and step out onto - no, into my bedroom. That is odd! I must have went to the wrong door in my annoyance. I cross the room and exit the servants' door to come out onto the - but I am back in the sitting room! What the devil is happening? I know which door I went through.

"Forgotten something?" Watson asks as he pours coffee - which I do not remember arriving - into a cup.

I snarl (which may not be wise at present) and step through the door of the washroom. At least that door still leads where it should. Why can I not leave the house?

"You really should stop charging about so. Admit that you are ailing and have a quiet day today - that should help you to begin to mend before the worst of the symptoms can manifest."

With that, I am sitting in my chair, swathed in rugs and a cheerful blaze is burning in the previously unlit hearth. Why can my brain not process anything as it should? Why can I not recall being made to sit or the lighting of the fire?

"Poor Holmes," says Watson as his hand rests upon my brow. "It is little wonder that you are behaving strangely - you are very hot. Now..."

A thermometer appears in his hand and he gently pushes it into my mouth.

I awake suddenly. I am in my bed, in my darkened bedroom. I ache from head to foot, I feel dreadfully queasy and my nose and throat are horribly dry.

"Hello Holmes. How are you feeling?"

I jump back and immediately begin to cough. Damn!

"All right old fellow," he pours me some water and assists me in drinking it. "Take it slowly. You are terribly ill."

"I want to smoke."

Watson frowns at me. "I do not think that that would be wise old fellow. You have been terribly ill these past few days."

"Your magic cannot keep me here - I shall climb out of the window if I cannot get out of the door!"

He stares at me for a long moment. "I would not hold you here against your will Holmes, but I would much prefer for you to stay indoors. Just for a day or two."

"I am not ailing."

The doctor snorts. "Indeed not - you are quite beyond the realms of 'ailing' old man. Now, what can I do for you?"

I wave him aside and stagger to my feet. I hope that the washroom is still situated behind its door, for my stomach is threatening to become somewhat rebellious.

**Author's note: I left it there to allow the reader to decide whether or not Watson is really magic. I cannot help but feel that that would certainly be a blessing when he is dealing with a difficult patient.**

**I am sorry that I went about the prompt in this way, but that is the method that worked the best for me. I hope that I did not go about it entirely badly.**


	21. Christmas Cheer

**Prompt for the 21st of December Watson enlists Holmes's help cheering up Gregson, who has lost touch with the true meaning of Christmas.**

"What do you expect me to do?" I demand to know. "Really Watson! I can hardly be called a Christmas Pixie!"

He attempts to hide a smile. "Indeed not, in your black suit - you look rather more like an undertaker."

"And I am sure that an undertaker would be better suited to cheering his fellow man than I! Why do you want my help?"

"Because," says my irksome companion as he takes my arm, "it will do you as much good as it will Inspector Gregson - do come along Holmes! You have half an hour to make yourself presentable."

Why we have to entertain the fellow I shall never understand, but I am soon coerced into changing into my finest dinner jacket. I have not long resumed my seat beside the fire when the bell rings.

"Behave yourself," warns Watson. "No business talk this evening, if you do not mind."

Humph! I do mind - what is the point of entertaining a Yarder if I cannot even discuss a case with the fellow. "Pah!"

Watson addresses me with a glare and then graciously welcomes our guest.

I arranged the meal myself - partridge and woodcock, venison, the finest winter vegetables (not cabbage), with oysters as a starter and a large Christmas cake for afterwards, accompanied with a fine port. I have clearly done well, for Gregson soon brightens up.


	22. Reflections

**Prompt for the 22nd of December From silvermouse - Reflection.**

**Many thanks for the many reviews (and apologies to those of you whose pieces I have neglected as of yet; I will read them all, even if I am still catching up in January). A particularly big thank you to those that I cannot respond to by private message; they will never fail to make a writer smile.**

I do not wish to allow Watson to know how very concerned I am this morning.

I am almost certain that the fellow is quite all right, as he has already assured me, but I was so very frightened that I might lose him when he was attacked last night that I cannot quite shelve my lingering fears.

I do not stare openly at my dearest - my only - friend; I would not enjoy such attention (particularly not if I had already assured him in no uncertain terms that I was well) and so I keep my watch of him secretly, with the aid of my washstand's mirror or a well-polished coffee pot. I am currently making use of a particularly shiny glass bauble that is hanging from the Norway Spruce in the sitting room; I have little doubt that Watson believes that I am admiring the thing.

It might be a little under-handed, but if it will serve to put my mind at rest without angering my dear Boswell then so be it.


	23. Unwanted Attention

**Prompt for the 23rd of December From SheWhoScrawls - Holmes' client, an attractive young woman, flirts with him. How does he react?**

**I dedicate this story to my dear friend and Beta, Ems, as today is her Birthday. Many happy returns my dear!**

I had thought that this matter would be a simple one - a missing earring to be found, the thief (if theft it was) brought to justice. And so the case itself was - it took me only two days to unravel the mystery itself.

Now I am faced with a rather more difficult problem - I am weary, cold and hungry and my client is giving me far too much unwelcome attention. How I wish that Watson had been able to accompany me today! If only I had lied and said that I anticipated danger when he expressed his concerns, but I could never bring myself to do that; crying wolf has never been in my nature.

All of this leaves me with a very serious problem - how can I disentangle myself from this flirtatious (wealthy and powerful) client and leave with both my dignity and (I suspect more importantly) hers still intact?

"Madam, I am truly flattered and... moved..." I assure her quietly as I prepare to make my retreat. "But I could not marry - my life is too dangerous and I have far too many enemies. Besides, you deserve better."

I hope that I have managed that as well as my Boswell might have done in my stead - the fairer sex is most certainly his department!


	24. Too Much

**Prompt for the 24th of December From TemporarilyAbaft - The boys are astoundingly drunk after a bit too much 'cheer'.**

This is the very reason that I dislike the Yarders' parties. They are a ridiculous lot that will always attempt to outdo one another. Of course, I can only blame myself - I should not have attended the party (and I most certainly should have graciously declined Lestrade's offer to buy me a drink; I really should have deduced just what the outcome would be).

"Best not walk home in that state," Lestrade slurs as he sways on his feet (he should consider his own condition before passing such remarks). "Let me send for a four-wheeler. Constable!"

After having every inspector present providing both myself and Watson with beer, I am not entirely certain that I want to ride home in a bumpy growler. Not that I am overly keen on walking home in the cold either. Why did I ever drink so much?

"Thank you for the lovely evening," Watson says with a happy smile as he (rather awkwardly) shakes Lestrade by the hand.

Ah yes, that was why. Watson, not wishing to offend his friends of the Yard, had been more than happy to drink anything that I attempted to decline - despite being plied with just as much fine ale as I.

I drag my companion into the four-wheeler and pull the provided rugs about us. It truly is dreadfully cold tonight.

"Good night," the doctor mumbles as he stretches himself out, crossing his legs at the ankles, before resting his head at my shoulder.

Hum... Perhaps sleep is a good idea. It might prevent me from becoming nauseous.

I awake feeling somewhat muddled. There is a stranger shaking my shoulder and I almost react by lashing out with a good straight left. I then realise that he is trying to tell me something.

"You're home now Mr. Holmes. Do you need any help?"

I shrug off his hands and rouse Watson, who immediately bursts into a song that (even in my current condition) I find rather offensive.

"Watson! Do get a hold of yourself!" I drag him from the growler, resisting the urge to shake or otherwise strike the fellow. "Cease that noise at once! Do you want all of Baker Street to hear?"

He shrugs carelessly and addresses me with a bright smile.

"You might feel differently tomorrow. Come along old fellow, let us get you inside."

I hold onto my dignity - somehow - until the constable that was sent to accompany us has helped me to get the doctor up our stairs and onto the settee. I wait until the fire is lit and the helpful chap departed. I then - and only then - dissolve into a helpless fit of the giggles (most unbecoming of a gentleman!) and collapse into my chair.

"It was a good party," Watson remarks cheerily (he is rarely one of those miserable, grumpy or violent men that drink can turn a fellow into). "I'm a bit sleepy now though."

"We should have some water first." I have had as much beer as he has, but I can still remember to be sensible. One of us has to.

I pour us each a glass of water and sip from it. Ugh! I am not overly fond of the plain, boring taste of water, but I know that we are likely to become unwell if we do not have some.

"Thank you," my old friend mumbles as I sit beside him on the settee.

"For what?" I ask of the fellow.

He sniffs. "I was so very lonely without you. Lestrade did his best but he is not you. Thank you for coming home."

I take his hand and squeeze it gently. "I also missed you." I shall never drink such a ridiculous amount again - how it loosens the tongue!

"I thought that I had lost you both."

Myself and Mary. "I know Watson."

"I have had my miracle. Mary is gone." His voice is shaking as he tries not to cry.

"I am sorry Watson. If I could restore Mary to you I would do so in a heartbeat."

He sniffs and rubs at his eyes.

"Come now - buck up Watson! Your dear wife would not want you to be sad." I can hardly bear it myself.

"Sorry Holmes. I miss her, that is all."

"I know that you do," Christmas is supposed to be a time meant for spending time with one's family; it is not at all surprising that my dear friend is missing his wife.

I know what I can do! I can soothe my Boswell with my violin. In my haste to retrieve it I leap from my seat - a rather foolish idea - and immediately land upon my face. Behind me, I hear my companion of old dissolve into a fit of laughter. Well, at least I have successfully cheered him, however much my dignity (and my nose) might have suffered for it.


	25. Party Arrangements

**Prompt for the 25th of December From silvermouse - Holmes does not want to hold a Christmas party- until a blood covered gold sovereign is uncovered and a mystery begins... what happens and why?**

I cannot understand Watson. Why should he wish to host a party? He must surely know that I dislike the things. Well, I have plenty of objections to voice.

"I can hardly prepare a banquet Watson! Can you?"

"Mrs. Hudson and her team of servants can - and I know well enough that you know how to put an adequate menu together. Besides, this is a party, not a banquet - the Yarders will be more interested in beer."

"That is precisely what I am afraid of."

"Really Holmes! I was not suggesting that we should drink to excess."

"The Scotland Yarders will anyway."

He wags a finger at me. "That is unfair and you know it well enough. They do not spend all of their free time in public houses - no more than we do - this is simply the season for making merry. Besides, those Yarders that are married are much more sensible than they were when you first acquainted me with them - had you failed to notice that there were no medical emergencies last night? Nobody was even sick!"

I was - a few hours after returning home - but I am not accustomed to drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Besides, Watson does not have to know about that.

But this is most unfair! He is ready for my every protestation and argument - he most certainly knows me far too well.

"Very well Doctor. Host your party if you must."

He looks disappointed. "I only decided to do this because I thought that it would... Well... I thought that you might enjoy it. I also thought that it would be nice to thank our friends at the Yard for inviting us to their Christmas party."

"I myself would much prefer to forget their Christmas party."

He sniffs. "Only because you drank too much and started to sing something rather shocking."

"I seem to recall that you were the one doing the singing - in the street, at the top of your lungs. I distinctly remember telling you to be quiet."

"Oh."

"In any case, the less said about last night the better."

He bows his head. "I rather enjoyed it."

Clearly. Oh! Why do I bother? I know that I am going to relent in any case. "Which hall have you booked?"

The hall is a fine one - and not situated above a public house - I have to admit that the fellow has chosen very well indeed.

It is while I am admiring my companion's choice of settings that I discover a gold sovereign in a little puddle of blood at the front of the building, where our guests will arrive. A curious place to find such a thing! Immediately, I begin my examination of the coin, blood and area. It is clear that a crime has recently been committed here - how fitting that there are soon to be so many of Scotland Yard's finest descending upon it! All the same, perhaps I should put them on the scent now, before they receive Watson's invitation and develop a party mood.

"Watson! Come at once - the game is afoot!"


	26. Committing to Paper

**Prompt for the 26th of December From I'm Nova - Old friends writing**

_**Watson:**_

I reread the letter before me with a lump forming in my throat. However much the fellow might attempt to conceal his heart, his words make it clear that he misses me. How I long to visit him, but my practice is busy at this time of year.

I take up my pen and begin to write to tell him as much. How can I explain, when I know that he would have dropped everything for me had he received such a plea?

_Dear Holmes_

_It is with regret that I must decline your kind offer to spend Christmas with you at your cottage._

I toss the letter upon the fire. It is much to formal - Holmes is my old friend, not a patient! I read his letter again, my eyes becoming misty.

My mind has now been made up. I shall retire, sell my practice and move in with Holmes in the New Year. It can be a little surprise for the old fellow. I smile and again take up my pen.

_Dear Holmes_

_It is not possible for me to visit you for Christmas as my neighbour has a young family that will want him at home. It would be selfish of me to ask him to take charge of both my practice and his._

_However, I shall be able to visit you in the New Year. I hope that that will lessen the disappointment for you somewhat._

_I shall send word the moment that I am able to make plans._

I add the customary things - that I hope that he is well and not too bored now that winter has come and his bees are hibernating, etcetera. I then sign it before reading my letter through once more. I feel it is not fair to my dearest friend, but it truly is the best that I can do.

_**Holmes:**_

It is with a heavy heart that I read the letter from my dear Watson. His writing speaks of a weariness that a younger man would not have to endure and I dearly wish that he had accepted my invitation. Selfish indeed! Watson was never selfish. I am truly glad that he has promised to visit me in the New Year, though I suspect that he has only said that to placate me. Well, I shall hold him to that.

_My dear Watson_

I stare down at the paper before me. There is so very much that I wish to say, but I know not quite how to transfer such things to ink and paper. I run a hand across my eyes and think carefully. What do I wish to tell him?

I miss him - he should know as much by now. I also hope that he is well, for his writing does tell far more than his words express. What can I say?

_My dear Watson_

_I understand perfectly - you always have placed your duties before yourself._

_I shall look forward to seeing you in the New Year._

Oh! Hang it all! I cannot possibly wait until January to hear his voice. Besides, I know that I shan't cease to fret until I know how he is.

I slam down my pen and instead take up the telephone. I need to hear his voice - the letter can wait until after we have spoken.


	27. Missing Children

**Prompt for the 27th of December From Catherine Spark - Mr and Mrs Darling of Kensington call Holmes and Watson out to investigate the disappearance of their three children**

A strange case this. Not the sort of case that would usually call me out.

My first suspicion, though I would never tell Watson as much, is that Mr. and Mrs. Darling have killed their children - either accidentally or else deliberately - and are trying to provide me with reason enough to believe them to be innocent.

Mrs. Darling is too calm, as if she knows where her children are. Mr. Darling is too composed. No, something is wrong - something has not come out.

The nursery from which the darling children supposedly vanished does interest me. The beds have clearly been jumped upon by small (children's) feet, there is a needle and thread sitting upon the coverlets of the girl's bed and the window is open.

Watson shivers and crosses the room to close said window, for the room is indeed terribly cold, but is stopped by the suddenly frantic Darlings.

"No! No Doctor!" Mr. Darling begs.

"The window must always remain open!" his wife adds tearfully.

My companion sniffs and rubs at his arms. "Then you are likely to contract pneumonia," he declares. "It is like an ice house in here!"

I have to agee; the temperature can hardly be called healthy. I approach the fellow's side and give a start, for there on the sill is a single footprint - a child's footprint. I swallow nervously as I approach the sill and look down, through the open window and into the garden at the rear of the house. There are no bodies, no signs of violence or struggle.

I cannot understand it! What could have happened here? It is as if the children have grown wings and flapped off through this open window. Why is this so unclear to me? What are we not being told?


	28. Bees and Boswells

**Prompt for the 28th of December From Ennui Enigma - Bee keeping**

"There," says Watson as he dusts off his hands. "That is the very last of your hives assembled and ready for your colonies old fellow. Can we go inside now?"

I nod and wrap an arm about my shivering companion. How cold the weather has turned - and how suddenly!

"Why we had to assemble them all today, I am not sure," my companion declares. "Did I not tell you that I shall stay until you are quite settled?"

"I wanted the garden prepared first," I explain with a shrug. "I hardly want to be forced to assemble and arrange hives in a rain storm - or snow, gales or hail, for that matter."

The doctor sniffs and rubs at his arms. "You are right, of course."

I smile, pat his good shoulder and lead him back inside the cottage. "A cup of tea with a little whisky, I think; that should restore us nicely."

We settle ourselves at the fireside with the tea things (and decanters). Watson takes up one of his old journals and I resume my study of the volume on bee keeping that I started early this morning, before the doctor's arrival. We fall into a comfortable silence akin to those that we so often shared at Baker Street. It is almost as if I never retired at all and I am quite suddenly dreading being here alone when my dear friend returns to London without me.

How different the garden looks when it is in full springtime bloom! I can hardly wait until my friend of old comes to visit and sees it, as it was bleak and windswept as any other garden would be in late winter when he returned to his practice in London. He would most assuredly not wish to leave such a place when it looks as it does now.

Today, however, I have no time to enjoy the beauty of my garden in bloom. I am installing my bees. I have read about it often enough to know how it is to be done and - once I have successfully installed one colony - I find that it is quite straightforward.

It is not long before I make my first discovery: bees are much more resilient than wasps. A fall of rain will cause all but the most stubborn of the yellow-striped insects to disappear (and good riddance too - they have been attacking my hives relentlessly!). My bees, however, are not so quick to return to the hives for shelter and will instead buzz about the flowers until the downpour becomes too heavy or the temperature too cold.

In any case, I have found many a dead wasp after a rainstorm, presumably having been knocked out of the air and drowned in a puddle, despite their apparent caution in bad weather - but I have yet to find a single deceased bee. Ha ha! Perhaps I should make some sprinkler traps in the vicinity of my hives.

Watson is not impressed by my observation. Knowing how cold the weather can turn at the coast, his first reaction is to scold and then demand to know whether I had the presence of mind to wear a coat at least, while I have been standing in the rain making these observations.

I chuckle quietly into the telephone at my ear. "Really Watson! Of course I wore a coat - you know how keenly I feel the cold."

"And I daresay that you are now going to catch a chill," the fellow frets. "You must be more careful - where is the nearest doctor situated?"

My physician is in London, but I am not in need of one. "I am perfectly well."

"You always say that," says he with a weary tone. "I shall be in Sussex tomorrow."

Has it always been so easy to bring the fellow running? I know that I should feel some remorse, but it has been months since I saw the fellow last and I can only feel elated. Already my dreadfully cunning mind has raced ahead of me and decided that I should remain subjected to the elements for hours on end frequently - in the name of science, obviously.


	29. Moving Day

**Prompt for the 29th of December From TemporarilyAbaft - "This thing is ridiculously heavy!"**

"This thing is ridiculously heavy!" I complain as I attempt to climb the stairs whilst bearing Watson's chest in my arms. "What the deuce have you got in here Watson?"

The fellow chuckles. "You volunteered to carry it old fellow. As for what it contains... Only my medical journals and a monograph or two."

"You must have an entire forest in here!" I do not really mind - an aching back is a small price to pay for having my friend of old moving in with me once more and the fellow's old wounds are clearly troubling him; I could hardly stand by and permit him to struggle with his heavier possessions.

This time the doctor laughs out loud and I smile to myself. It is good to hear him laugh.

I carry Watson's chest of clothes upstairs - both flights - next and then assist him with the boxes of those items that he could not part with. I do not ask what he has kept and I resist the temptation to have a quick look at the contents. My friend will tell me if he wishes to - I must behave myself.

When the hall is at last clear Watson rings for tea and I settle myself in my chair beside the hearth. How I have longed for this day to come!

"Welcome home Doctor Watson," says Mrs. Hudson as she deposits the tea things on our sideboard. "It is nice to have you back."

My companion of old smiles warmly at her. "It is nice to be back. Thank you."

Before he can reach the sideboard I am there already. Hastily I pour the tea and hand the fellow his cup and saucer. "Welcome back my dear fellow."

He gives me a small smile and takes to his chair. "Thank you Holmes."

I allow him to drink his tea in silence but do not permit him to dwell too much upon the past. When he shows signs of becoming morose I retrieve my violin and play his very favourite pieces, watching as my friend's shoulders gradually relax.

The doctor needs time and support to heal, but that is the very reason that made me want him here as badly as I do. It might be considered wrong to want him here for my own selfish reasons, such as my loneliness, but it surely cannot be wrong to want to care for the fellow now that his wife is not here.

I continue to play until dinner time, hoping all the while to convey something of the sentiments that I am unable to voice. I hope that the dear chap at least knows that I mean to be a better man - and a better friend - than I ever was before.


	30. Hurt and Anger

**Prompt for the 30th of December From TemporarilyAbaft - Watson makes a decision to put something behind him.**

I am usually a patient man, but even I have my limits. Why Holmes cannot see that he has tested me far too much these last two days I cannot imagine, but I do wish that he would allow me some time to calm myself.

As is so often the way of things when we work a case together, I have had little time for food or rest. Holmes has had less of both, which causes me to feel that it would be selfish of me to complain, but I am becoming irritable - which is worsening as I become increasingly weary and uncomfortable.

Holmes is clearly irritable himself, for he is taking every opportunity to provoke me with the insults that are usually reserved for the very worst of policemen.

At last I lose my temper after one of his particularly cutting remarks. Why the deuce am I here, in such discomfort, when I could have remained at the inn? My companion most assuredly does not want or require my assistance today.

I berate the fellow, giving vent to my own frustrations, weariness and discomforts, before turning and limping away. Damn my leg! My exit would have had much more dignity without that wretched limp.

It has been less than ten minutes since my return to the rather modern and comfortable inn that our - Holmes' - client has recommended when the irksome detective hurries into our twin bedroom in a flurry of anxiety and apologies. I should forgive the fellow but my anger is still boiling within my veins and I am going to lose my temper again if he does not remove himself from my presence at once.

"Get out."

Holmes stops mid-sentence to stare at me, his mouth opening and closing as he desperately searches for the words to say.

"No more words. Get out."

The detective closes his mouth, the lips forming a straight, thin line. He then turns away sharply, but not quickly enough to conceal the pain in his eyes from me - nor the glint of a tear on his cheek.

Never before have I seen my friend cry - and he looks almost as if I have physically struck him, with that expression of hurt and shock that I glimpsed - and at once my anger leaves me. It is too late; the fellow is already opening the door to make his retreat.

"Wait! Holmes..."

But of course, he is not going to face me in such a condition. I hear him stride across the little landing and then the door of the clean but somewhat basic bathroom opposite our room slams. He has clearly gone there to collect himself and replace his mask.

What can I do? Why did I lose my temper in such a fashion in the first place? Perhaps it would go a long way towards making amends if I could even explain myself to the fellow, for I always find it easier to forgive Holmes when I can understand him.

It does not take much effort for me to realise the cause of my current bitterness. I have never approved of deception and only yesterday my friend deceived me yet again. He has assured me on more than one occasion that it was necessary to lead me to believe him to be returning to London while he in fact was hiding in an abandoned old house.

However, I was hurt and angered by the way in which he will use me without a thought and, rather than even attempting to make amends, the fellow had proceeded to anger me still further with his continued callous treatment.

Well, why should I expect courtesy? He would not give any other any special regard, so why should I expect it? If Holmes brings me along with him only because I am no more than an easily lead old fool that requires sympathy then who am I to complain? At least his adventures give me reason to feel useful.

There. That must be it. Holmes' recent treatment of me has undermined my sense of worth and I have reacted by lashing out in response. I should apologise - it is not his fault that his patience has been short with me today. Dash it all, I am indeed slow, with little stamina and a mind that is all too easily distracted by the complaints of my body - I am everything that Holmes said that I am and more besides.

"Watson?" Holmes whispers through the door as he shifts from one foot to the other (I can hear him moving and can see his shadow swaying under the door).

"Come in Holmes."

He enters very quietly - nervously - with his head down so that his face is obscured by his hair.

"I am truly sorry old man," I begin.

My friend holds up his hand. "I should apologise to you my dear fellow," says he, his voice but a whisper.

"Holmes, everything that you have said to me was perfectly true and I should not have lost my temper. You were quite right to berate me."

"True?" he repeats as his grey eyes stare back at me blankly. "Right?"

"Absolutely. So I shall go back to London at once and -"

Holmes is capable of quite an astonishing turn of speed when he is so inclined. He causes me to jump when he all at once lunges forward and grasps both of my hands urgently.

"No! No, no, no! I never meant a word! Watson, I would never want you to leave!"

"No, you are much to kind."

He gapes at me incredulously. "Kind? My behaviour, kind? Surely you are joking! I have behaved disgracefully - I deserve far worse than a few sharp words! You would be well within your rights to give me a sound thrashing."

I shake my head as I attempt to collect my thoughts. "I am slow and stupid and easily distracted and fooled. You are kind to bring me with you at all."

"Today you are not at your best. I am not either, hence my short temper and deplorable behaviour. Mycroft would no doubt have called it a tantrum and informed me that I am far too old to behave in such an unseemly manner - and I might have to agree with him to some extent."

He is addressing me with a very tentative smile as he offers to shake me by the hand.

"Holmes, you are not entirely to blame."

Normally I would have much more patience and I do know from where my anger and resentment has stemmed. I reacted as I did due to the lingering bitterness from Holmes' first - and worst - deception of all. I see now that I am still somewhat angry about Reichenbach and must put that completely behind me if I am not to irreparably destroy our friendship.

The first step, it would seem to me, would be to explain my reaction to yesterday's deception, for the insults would usually have been ignored. I suppose that the rest rather depends upon the both of us.


	31. Holiday

**Prompt for the 31st of December From Sendai - agio for Doctor Watson**

**My dedication and special thanks to I'm Nova, who kindly translated the meaning of agio (in Italian it means ease, comfort, leisure) when I could find only the English meaning (which I already know) and a brand of cigars when I attempted to use Google to translate it. Many thanks indeed my dear.**

**My apologies that it is a little short.**

I am rather worried about Watson. He has seemed somewhat morose of late and today he showed no interest in a rather promising case, preferring instead to remain abed.

Perhaps the fellow is only weary, but I am concerned never the less. It is not like the fellow to remain curled beneath his coverlets until almost midday and he has still not come down for breakfast. I should check on the fellow - he may need a doctor.

I am relieved. Well, somewhat. He does seem to be more weary than anything else. All the same, I have lit a fire in his hearth and will check on him frequently lest he become worse. He would appear to have a slight chill, however much he might insist to the contrary.

"Watson?" I whisper as I approach his bed, carefully avoiding the boards that squeak. If he is fast asleep I would rather not disturb the fellow.

He sniffs and groans. "Hello Holmes."

I press a hand to his forehead. No fever. Good. "Are you feeling worse?"

"I am merely tired Holmes. Only tired."

I nod and sit beside him on his bed. "Would you care to get up?"

He groans again. "I shall have to soon I fear. Or do you mean for me to rise and dress?"

"I mean for you to get up and make yourself presentable. We have a train to catch."

He gives a start and stares at me. "But you said that you did not take that case."

"Never mind what I said," I snap as I begin to pack for him. "Just be a good chap and get up."

Perhaps this was not a good idea after all, for Watson is clearly unwell. He is currently curled miserably in his seat opposite mine with the rugs that I gave to him wrapped about him like a cocoon. He has paid the train or its destination no thought at all.

The doctor sniffs miserably. "You could have taken this case on your own old man. You do not need me with you."

"Watson, I do nothing without good reason. I suggest that you try to sleep - perhaps it will make you feel better."

He mumbles something that even I cannot decipher and closes his eyes. Soon after, he begins to snore.

When we reach our destination, my friend is decidedly grumpy. He never much appreciates having his sleep disturbed and he is clearly still feeling unwell. He does, however, brighten considerably when he realises that I have not dragged him out of bed for the sake of a case at all.

"Sussex?" he asks with a bleary smile.

I return his smile with a nod of confirmation. "Sussex. You need the fresh air."

"I am only tired Holmes."

We must both know that he is not by now, though his condition does not seem to be serious. "I know old fellow, but they do say that a change is as good as a rest. Sea air, open spaces... That should do you much more good than the London fogs."

He nods and smiles gratefully as we step onto the platform. "Perhaps even some fishing..."

"Tomorrow perhaps," I interrupt with a (forced) yawn that I cover with my hand. "Unlike you, I have not slept on the train."

I shall not admit that I was much too concerned and watchful for rest, for I very much doubt that that would be appreciated. After all, he is only tired.

Well, I know well enough by now that Watson would prescribe rest, relaxation and clean air if I had the symptoms that I have seen in him this morning, so I am most assuredly giving him the right treatment. Besides, I rather like a little sea air myself - I might even take the waters while we are here. Our holiday begins now and I am rather looking forward to it.


End file.
